Thursday, 1 June 2017

[CAMPAIGN JOURNAL] The Inheritance #09: Bad Idea Buck

The
patrons of the Dancing Basilisk were absorbed in conversation or having their lunch
when the door opened and a ragged figure walked in.

“Food!” he bellowed, and slammed a meaty
fist on the counter. The stranger was a half-orc in torn black leather clothes,
a mail shirt, a flail in his belt. He sneered as he looked around, but was
pacified as the innkeeper brought him a plate of mutton, brined radishes, and a
mug of beer. The half-orc ate ravenously, finishing his meal with a contented
burp. He became more attentive as he heard bits of a conversation from one of
the tables.

“And I am telling you, there really is a
vampire tree up in them mountains. It’s got golden apples too, if you can get
them.”

“Not bad. We saw a midnight goatsucker and a
bush that shot arrows.”

“There sure are some weird things up them
valleys.”

“We should sell the sceptre and horn we got
in the abandoned mines” Drolhaf
Haffnarskørung suggested to the assembled company. “Huberic could be a good buyer, and for now, he is favourably disposed
towards us.”

They
followed the Northman’s advice and went to see Lord Huberic in his tower. They
were well received, and the fat autocrat not only bought the items, he had his
own tale to tell:

“In truth, now that I have a son, I am also
looking for a bride, and have heard news of someone suitable. It is told there
is a sleeping elven princess in an enchanted field somewhere in the mountains.
If she was woken, I am sure she would immediately fall in love with me. As for
you, you would be handsomely rewarded.”

“A wise idea!” nodded Drolhaf. “We will look into the matter.”

“Until then,” Sir Huberic nodded to the
dour, tall old man next to the throne. “He
will escort you to the mint andensure
you are paid for these items”.

“Yes, Sir, he is that bad. Could you please
take him off of of my back? I beg of you—“ the innkeeper pleaded with Gadur
Yir when the next day rose. “He is of
your kind; maybe you can talk sense to him?”

“Just because we are both half-orcs? Well...
let’s see. We have to investigate that kidnapped merchant… he must still be
held by the bandits in the caves.”

“Yeah, let’s go to the dungeon! This guy
croaks, and we bring the merchant back.”

Phil
the Terror of Turkeys strode up to the morose newcomer, and tugged on his
clothes.

“You! You there! My name is Karl, Keeper of the Flower, and you will
come with us to the dungeon!”

The
half-orc looked back at the group, and spat.

“I may come with you if the money is good. My
name is Buck.”

“I bet you have relatives in Bucklin” sniggered Gadur Yir.

“Sooner or later, I will have relatives
everywhere” grunted Buck. “Care to
guess where I got this cool leather getup?”

They
prepared for the next expedition. Some took a hot bath, and some (namely Buck)
wallowed in the mud a little. Karl took the fish-shaped piece of metal to
the armourer, who examined it, and said he could fashion a haft for it to make
it work as a spear. At last, they were ready, and approached the three cave
entrances to the northwest of Haghill. There was a little trouble arranging the
marching order (“I don’t want this fucker
behind my back”, someone grumbled), but at last, Drolhaf Haffnarskørung and Gadur
Yir agreed to go first, followed by Buck,
and finally Karl, Keeper of the Flower.
Unlike the last time, they chose the rightmost entrance. The passage lead to a
small niche with a font of water fed by a grotesque stone head. Wind was
blowing from a passage descending downwards, and stairs glistened with water.
Gadur Yir shrugged, and started to descend, triggering a tripwire. There was a
crack overhead as a pole gave way and an avalanche of rocks tumbled down –
fortunately, everyone could avoid it.

More
careful now, they continued, but halted in their tracks just as soon as they
proceeded a little. A deep buzzing sound came from downwards, and swarms of
bees filled the passage. In the middle of the thick clouds, there was a ragged
man clad in what seemed like dirty, resin-reinforced birchbark clothes, his
limbs caked with a black filth and his face covered with a thick veil. He
advanced towards the company.

“May the gods grant you sweet honey,
Beekeeper!”

The
answer to Drolhaf’s greeting was only a sibilant buzzing sound, like a man
imitating his bee companions. The strange apparition stared at them for an
uncomfortable moment, but at last, he made another buzzing sound, and passed
them on his way up, followed by the thick clouds of his bees.

The Singing Caverns: Upper Level

The
passage descended deeper and deeper, until it arrived in a garbage-strewn chamber.
Two sets of stairs descended further, while to the northeast, a wooden board
hung next to a tall ledge: “TRUGLAG’S TAVERN: RING FOR ADMITTANCE.” Up the
ledge, dark passages disappeared in two directions.

Gadur
Yir ringed the bell by the sign. A snarling great lynx came forward from one of
the passages, followed by two yawning orc guards carrying a ladder. Cautious at
first, they became more relaxed as they saw the two half-orcs in the group.

“Come on up if good food or drink is your
wish – we are open!”

The
company followed the two orcs through tunnels smelling of smoke and sweat, by a
guard room and what looked like a barracks. At last they arrived in a dimly lit
tap room, where a burly orc was cleaning the counter with a rag, and a group of
hooded men conversed by a round table.

Truglag – the orc by the counter – served up a row
of foaming mugs, followed by platters of roast ham with honey, a ragout with
mushrooms, and honey cake.

“Any trail rations to sell?” asked
Drolhaf.

Truglag
rubbed his belly “There be more hearty
fare if you want it – I’ve got a leg of prime wild boar ham, cured and mossy.
It will be six gold pieces, but it’ll last. The boars be munching their food
down in the caverns, makes them real tasty.”

Drolhaf
counted out the coins, and they settled around an empty table.

They
talked some, and the barkeeper told them a few stories about the caves – there
was the crazed beekeeper, a garden further within the labyrinth, a treacherous
well which multiple drunken guests have fallen into, and a dangerous magic-user
lived down the stairs from the tavern. When asked about the kidnapped merchant,
Truglag only shrugged – he had seen or heard of nobody by that description.

***

Taking
their farewells, the company delved deeper, climbing down rough-hewn stairs to
a lower section of the caverns. Another set of stairs climbed back up, a
collapsed barricade constructed of old barrels and crates stood to the west,
and the statue of a smiling, jovial monk stood in a niche to the east. The
statue was smeared with all kinds of foulness, a bottle had been smashed on its
head, and someone had written “LIES!” in charcoal on the wall. Karl, Keeper of
the Flower read the plaque below the statue: “BELIEVE MY WORDS, OH MY TRUE
FRIEND, HERE YOU SHALL FIND YOUR HEART’S CONTENT.”

“Let’s just not go this way” he
suggested, and the others followed him up the stairs.

Natural
caverns followed, the flagstones blackened by old smoke. In a corner, the
remains of a bonfire was littered with animal bones. The cavern twisted and
turned, and while one passage lead to a downward stairway, the other emerged
into a larger space illuminated by... rays of sunlight?

The
light shone from a great hole in the ceiling where the hill had caved in. Dark
earth covered the floor, and lush plants exhaled a misty fragrance. A great oak
tree encircled by berry-laden vines stood in the middle of this wondrous glade,
and mossy old statues stood guard at multiple points around it. Bees were
buzzing among the blooming flowers. To the north, the cavern opened into a
chasm, spanned by a rickety wooden bridge – deep down, there was a cavern with
more plants. The place seemed beautiful and serene… perhaps too serene.

The
buzzing of the bees started to grow louder and louder, until they collected
into large black swarms and hurled themselves at the company. Drolhaf Haffnarskørung
quickly retreated to the adjoining cavern to the west. The bees proved very
resistant to swords, but torches and smoke worked fine, and a dust devil spell by Buck eventually
scattered them. Meanwhile, Drolhaf was also in trouble: in the other cavern, he
was quickly ambushed by a horde of rats, while the rest of the company had to
face a swarm of vampire bats coming from the lower cavern, attracted to the
warm bodies in the meadow. Drained and tired, at last they were standing over a
mound of slain enemies.

“Anything else?” Gadur Yir asked as he
beheaded a green serpent which tried to climb up his leg.

Finding
no more opposition, the half-orc climbed the tree and tried to go higher on the
vines clinging to the side of the hole in the ceiling, but found them too loose
to continue.

Instead
of lingering longer, they explored the western cave. A stream was running
through the place, feeding a pool filled with blind albino cave newts, but
there was also something else. Someone had excavated a hole in the ground, and
scattered pickaxes and shovels were still laying around the place. On the
bottom, they found a curious relic: a life-sized, red clay statue of a naked
woman. There were scraps of ancient sacks, and five ancient, crude electrum
pieces left in the depression. Lifting the statue from its resting place and
restoring it to an upright position, they heard a resonant sound, silent in the
caverns but clear and loud within their heads:

“BURIED
DEEP AND PLUNDERED THE WORLD LIES FRAYED AND DEFILED / A NEW SPRING IT BRINGS
AND RESTORED TO STRENGTH IT ADMIRES ITS OWN SIGHT”

…then,
the primitive image was silent once more. Finding nothing more of value here,
the company continued to the north, and descended another stairway into the
lower caverns.

***

The
stairs lead to a larger, long chamber branching off into multiple smaller
tunnels. Steps and lights came from the south, and a group of a dozen men came
into view. Dressed in buckskin and green, they bore bows and long swords. Their
leader hailed the company and inquired about their purpose here. Hearing they
were explorers, the men became less tense, and told they were in the same
business – they were investigating a series of old burial sites, but had found
no valuables so far except the statues of olden kings. At last – while Buck was
trying to estimate their numbers and strength – they left towards the north,
while the company stayed around and investigated the side caverns. Each of the
chambers lead to a small room, decorated with bas-reliefs of old warriors, and
the standing statues of warriors. Runic incriptions told of forgotten names.
ILLONAR, RADERGUND and KAZZODORIC. Illonar’s statue had an empty niche in its
base, long looted; Radergund’s statue was toppled, and Kazzodoric’s bore a
rusty helmet. The end of the hall to the west was collapsed, but a pile of
rubble to the east hid a small crawlway.

Considering
their chances, Drolhaf Haffnarskørung and Karl the Keeper of the Flower crawled
inside with a lantern, while the two half-orcs waited outside. While the others
were exploring, footsteps came from the east, and Gadur Yir and Buck found
themselves in a ring of drawn scimitars.

“Agak is the greatest!” grinned Buck as
he held up the symbol of the orc god, a satanic star encircling a clawed hand –
the newcomers were a company of ten orcs.

“Agak is the greatest!” the orcs shouted
in greeting. “What do you seek here? We
came to search these caverns for treasures.”

Buck
looked over them and snarled: “There are
human worms in these passages – they will be easy prey if you just go north.”

“Lead us, and we shall take them together”
came the answer.

“So be it! Come and be quick!”

Gadur
Yir stayed behind as Buck and the orcs raced through the narrow passages,
emerging into a vast cavern filled with mounds of rubble and teeming plant life
– the bottom of the chasm seen from the underground glade, right under the
bridge.

“Forward! To victoryyyy!” Buck urged the
orcs, who thundered through the cavern, while the shadowy cleric ducked into a
shadow and returned to the hall of the kings.

The Singing Caverns: Lower Level

...meanwhile,
Drolhaf and Karl emerged into a small round chamber like the others. Water had
collected on the muddy floor, and thick roots hung from the wet ceiling. The
statue of king ADALRIC held an old spear in its hands, the head stuck among the
roots and green stalks of the low ceiling. Drolhaf imagined he had heard a
faint chanting, but wasn’t sure about it.

“Well?”

“This is just a spear” shrugged the
hobbit.

Drolhaf
was not so sure. “No… it would have
rotted if it was a common weapon. Stay back if you want.”

Karl
retreated to the tunnel as the Northman applied soap to the spear’s haft, and
with one move, pulled it from the statue’s hands. “Yes... this looks extraordinarily well balanced.”

Gadur
Yir and Buck were still in a heated discussion when they returned, but
eventually, Gadur Yir shrugged, and they continued cautiously to the large
cavern. There were sounds of battle coming from the north, and observing from a
safe place, they saw the few remaining orcs scatter and flee in panic.

“Cowards!” Buck growled, mostly to
himself.

“Do you know them?” asked Drolhaf.

“It was a passing acquaintance.”

***

Instead
of going north and confronting whatever it was the orcs had run into, they went
south, and found a long stairway down and another up. Figuring the latter would
return them near the underground glade, they descended until they heard
murmuring and chanting. A dirty leather curtain closed off an opening in the
wall of the passage before a new set of stairs descended even further. An
unclean and repulsive smell came from behind, and only Gadur Yir was brave
enough to step inside. In a small chamber with roots hanging from the ceiling, a
filthy old hermit was sitting cross-legged and murmuring its chants. The man
was a wreck, his wild hair and unkempt beard shot through with fungi and moss,
his nails encrusted with revolting filth, his eyes replaced by sightless
gemstones. In a croaking sound, the hermit spoke.

“Welcome, foolish interloper. Twenty gold
coins you shall count out before me, and you shall go freely, avoiding the
weight of my curse.”

Gadur
Yir opened his purse and paid his dues. “Here
you are, old man. Now can you tell me where these stairs lead?”

“It is a forbidden place, yes... it is said
the Beekeper had been down there, once, before he was the Beekeeper… and I had
looked when I had eyes to see… The mysteries of the old world are buried
underneath – stay away!”

Thanking
the hermit and sharing the information with his companions, Gadur Yir was
interested in continuing, while Karl seemed more cautious.

“The Beekeeper was also there, and he is
cuckoo insane like this guy. Let’s just follow the warning and get the hell out.
We are looking for the kidnapped merchant, not any ‘old world’ foolishness.”

But Drolhaf’s
interest was picqued. “The old world?Sounds like something worth
investigating.”

Gadur
Yir made his decision “I follow the god
of heroism – stay if you want, but we are going.”

The neverending
stairs descended downwards and downwards, deep into the silent depths of the
earth. The half-orc and the Northman passed multiple rests with crude stone
benches, until at last they arrived at a stone arch held by the statues of two
dwarves. They peered through the opening into a vast underground cavern, dark
but shining with a weird non-light that allowed them to see in odd and
unnatural hues. There were plants in the cavern, and the great stone blocks of
an upside-down stone circle on the ceiling. This was the seat of something
strange and powerful, and there was a feeling of tension in the air.

Drolhaf’s
voice broke the heavy silence: “If we go
through the arch – the Beekeper had been here, and lost his mind.”

Gadur
Yir countered: “He survived.”

Dolhaf,
again: “This is not a civilised place.
Not the right kind of civilisation, anyway.”

Gadur
Yir thought for a while, looking at the arch, but didn’t step through. At last
he sighed, and they turned back to return to their companions.

***

Once
again in the large cavern, the coast seemed clear, so they went north to
investigate the battle site. Broken orc bodies lie everywhere, mangled and
smashed by something strong. Looting the corpses resulted in some loot, but it
was all slim pickings. Continuing to the northwest, then north, they entered a passage
which lead to a cavern filled filled with tall man-sized mushrooms. Something
lumbered among the fleshy pods and caps. A living statue, its hands still bloodied,
came at them, but went down under a series of strikes. Drolhaf Haffnarskørung
tried out his new spear, and it seemed to pierce stone as well as it would pierce
a man. A magical weapon! With the stone guardian slain, Karl the Keeper of the
Flower investigated the mushroom patches, collecting a handful of edible
specimens, and a few more which carried a strong poison. Meanwhile, the others
had discovered another passage to the north, leading out of the cave system and
into the dense woods around Haghill. Noting its location, they turned back to
the south, bypassing a pool of water to return to the battle site with the dead
orcs.

…only
to run into the band of nine green-clad men again, who were now busy stripping
the dead orcs of their remaining valuables. They hailed each other, and the men
turned back to their tasks, but Buck, who had spotted a fat purse on one of the
men, had a different idea. He started to chant, speaking the words of a hold person spell. Three men froze in motion,
while someone cried --

“Treachery!”

Blades
were drawn and blows were exchanged, and in a quick, one-sided and terrible
massacre, most of the men were cut down where they stood, except two slingers,
who dropped their weapons and begged for mercy.

“Kneel!” barked Buck as he rifled the
corpses. He led the two unfortunates to a side cavern, taking out his rage and evil
nature on the hapless robbers while the rest of the company waited uneasily
outside. When the broken robbers emerged, they begged to be left alive, and promised
to tell anything just to escape with their lives.

“Where are the captives? Where is the
kidnapped merchant?” cried Buck.

“They…” the men whimpered.

“Answer or die, dogs!”

“Please no! They are... they are at Truglag’s!
Please let us go!”

Buck
suggested using them as human shields, but nobody liked the idea, and the others
were still shaken by the revelation of his debased nature. In the end, Drolhaf
untied their ropes, and pointed to the north--

“Go along this passage until you reach an
exit. I don’t want to see you again near Haghill!”

The
two survivors, still shocked, left as quickly as they could, leaving the
company to their dark thoughts.

After
exploring more of the nearby caverns – trying to solve the mystery of a weird
statue and pacifying a group of wild boars with Karl’s freshly picked mushrooms
– they decided to return to the upper level. Tired, they climbed up the stairs
and made for the underground glade, but again found themselves in company. A
group of dejected and tired orcs were sitting around the tree, some nursing
wounds, some just staring morosely. They looked up, and one shouted, pointing
at Buck: “There he is! The traitor!”

A
melee developed around the tree and near the ledge, everyone against multiple
enemies. At last, Drolhaf Haffnarskørung, who had kept his orcs away easily, had
enough.

“Go for the cleric and we will leave you
alive!” he snapped at the pitiful orcs, pointing at Buck. The orcs turned
and fell on Buck, who was now fighting for his life as Drolhaf watched.

“Him! Take him!” he shrieked and pointed,
and as if compelled by magic, the orcs turned away from him and fell on Gadur
Yir. They had almost brought him down, but the half-orc was too tough, and
eventually slew his assailants.

In
the end, they were standing wounded and panting over a pile of orc bodies. Buck
and Gadur Yir were heavily wounded, and Drolhaf and Karl were also close to
being spent. They glared at each other, while fat bats started descending on
the slain orcs to drink their blood. Buck spat. Drolhaf, his weapon still
raised, broke the silence.

“Buck, we did not know you yet properly this
morning, only that the innkeeper asked us to bring you with us just to get rid
of you. We did you no harm, but you seem to have an orc army here, and you had
first send them to their death, and then against Gadur Yir to save your skin.
We still don’t know you, but we don’t like what we are seeing. What do you have
to say about this?”

“I almost died!” protested Gadur Yir.

Buck
only shrugged. “We are all pretty worn
down. What use is it? Let’s get going, and if you want, we can discuss it outside.
It is getting dark outside anyway.”

Returning
to the forest exit, they made for Haghill to raise the militia and have them
surround and smoke out the bandits’ nest in Truglag’s Tavern. Armed men with
torches gathered to prepare for the assault on the caverns, and riders were
dispatched to block off the alternate exit. Meanwhile, Buck was gorging himself
with the Dancing Basilisk’s mushroom salad, and enjoying the attentions of the
cooking lady, whom he had invited upstairs for a quick romp. But something was
broken between him and the other members of the company, who had all come back in
a foul mood. The next morning, Buck was gone with unpaid bills, and he was
never seen in Haghill again.

(Session
date 1 May 2017).

***

Notable quotes:

Drolhaf:
“You let them die for nothing – they were
your own kin.”

Buck:
“So?”

Drolhaf:
“But you are a follower of Agak, not Ayn
Rand!”

Drolhaf:
“We can go home now – mission
accomplished, we got the half-orc out of the pub.”

GM: “The orcs have some treasure on them.”

Buck,
satisfied: “They didn’t die in vain.”

***

Referee’s notes: That escalated
quickly. After a long and mostly enjoyable dungeon expedition, the conclusion
had kind of a bitter tinge to it. Buck had not just angered the rest of the
company and wasted orc lives, he had also screwed up the main goal: the
confessions he had extracted from the bandits were false. As things go with
torture, captives tend to say whatever they think will get them released, and
the men, shocked by what they had just gone through and afraid for their lives,
lied. Bramerlic the mineral dealer was never found; not by the party and not by
Huberic’s men – by the time they assaulted the dungeon, the bandits and their
captive were long gone.

After
the game, everyone in the group agreed that Buck would just have to go. He had
passed the dividing line between adorable rascal and loathsome fuckwit. Nobody
liked him (actually, not even his player), and he will not be missed.

2 comments:

No, unless it was a subconscious influence, which it could have been. Agak is the Orc God in this campaign world, and his agents are working feverishly to bring down human civilisation and replace it with his rule and progeny.